


hell is something you carry with you

by orphan_account



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angels, Demons, F/M, Hell, Wings, alternative 1x13, but he's not completely a dick, lord of hell lucifer, lucifer goes back to hell, time passes differently in hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I’ll go willingly, please.” he says, rain wet and bloody. “Take me back to hell.”Amenadiel wants to say no, it’s on the edge of his tongue - but he doesn’t. Amenadiel closes his eyes for a moment before nodding. “Alright, brother.” he says gently. “Alright.”





	1. in the beginning

“I’ll go willingly, please.” he says, rain wet and bloody. “Take me back to hell.”

Amenadiel wants to say no, it’s on the edge of his tongue - but he doesn’t. Amenadiel closes his eyes for a moment before nodding. “Alright, brother.” he says gently. “Alright.” 

He takes extra care when swooping Lucifer up, wings beating as gently as possible. The flight from the earthly plane to the one below isn’t the smoothest journey, but Amenadiel does what he can to combat the turbulence. To his credit Lucifer only stumbles once after Amenadiel lets him go, pushing away from his brother as he feels the mantle of Lord settle upon him and all it comes with. Lucifer tries to catch his breath, braced against the icy brick, the frigid air of hell stealing the air from his lungs. He shivers and Amenadiel does not mention it. 

“Home sweet home.” he laughs, humorless and painful. Amenadiel looks away. Lucifer straightens, ash dotting his dark hair and speckling his suit. “Bloody ash.” he gripes, brushing it off.

That’s when they notice the sound, the faint clinking of chain links. 

“What’s wrong?” Amenadiel asks, instantly on guard. His wings raise in a threat display but there’s no one here besides the two of them.

“That can’t be right.” Lucifer murmurs, ignoring his brother. They both walk forward and Lucifer pauses with caution. When he sees it, fear tingles down his spine. The Gate is open, the chains loose and broken.

“What in God’s name-” Amenadiel starts, eyes narrowing at the Gates. They’re already unlocked, the latch hanging slack, and Lucifer quickens his pace, striding past the bleak obsidian columns to the inner Door. Horror grips Amenadiel at the sight of the Door, blown ajar from the inside. 

“It’s open.” Lucifer says slowly, as if in disbelief himself. 

“How is that possible?” Amenadiel growls, feathers standing on end.

Lucifer’s wide eyed astonishment abruptly vanishes, smoothed away behind an indifferent mask. Something in Amenadiel aches at seeing it used with him again. Whatever progress they’ve made is being erased by hell’s influence.

“It’s not.” Lucifer answers, disdain clear in his voice. “Well done, brother. You’ve got me back to hell, you can go now.” Lucifer tells him, suddenly and insincerely cheery. 

“But -” Amenadiel took a step forward towards the Door and feels the air drop ten degrees. 

“Perhaps I hadn’t made myself clear.” Lucifer says, voice chilling. “ _Get. Out._ ” his eyes flash dangerously.

Amenadiel swallows nervously and steps back. Perhaps he would have had a foothold back on earth, a depowered Lucifer against even the lowest of angels wasn't exactly a fair fight, let alone against Amenadiel himself. But here? With the might of hell once again thrumming through him? Well, Amenadiel thinks the wiser course is not to test such a theory. Instead, he bows, the proper degree of respect for an angel of his class to an archangel and graciously ignores Lucifer’s surprise. 

“Of course, brother.” he says, in the most non-confrontational voice possible. “If you have any need of me, please.” Amenadiel implores. “Do not hesitate to call me.”

Lucifer hums, posture unchanged, smirk permanently in place. “Well, apparently I have pressing matters to attend to, brother. As do you.”

Amenadiel frowns. 

“Or did you forget?” Lucifer asks, unholy glee lighting his face. “Malcolm is still running around upstairs murdering people.” he doesn’t wait and goes in for the kill. “Because of...oh, right. Because of _you_ , brother. I wonder how dear old dad is going to feel about that, hm?”

Amenadiel’s face hardens but then he says the words Lucifer didn’t think he’d ever hear. “You’re right. I lost sight of the bigger picture and humanity has suffered for it. I will find Malcolm.” and Amenadiel is serious, thunderous. _Angelic_ Lucifer’s mind whispers. “And I will send him to you.” Amenadiel promises.

Lucifer stalks forward and it takes every ounce of willpower Amenadiel has not to concede another step backwards. “Good.” Lucifer snarls, and it rumbles with inhuman power. He glances his brother up and down, as if taking measure and finding him wanting and Amenadiel hates it. Hates that Lucifer can make him feel so insignificant so easily. 

“If that’s all? You can see yourself out.” Lucifer says, already turning away. He only looks back after the telltale flutter of feathers signals Amenadiel’s departure. He has a brief flash of despair at the Door, one last thought of _you don’t have to go in there_ , before he steels himself and closes it behind him.

The sound of the lock clunking shut echoes in his ears. Well. That’s it, then.

He descends carefully, in total darkness, using senses humans don’t possess to navigate ever downwards, the light gradually growing, dim and grey. The ground is mirelike and slippery in turns, sucking at his footsteps and he eyes the state of his expensive leather shoes with distaste. 

He finds himself in the great stone Labyrinth that hides the Door, but, for him, it’s easily navigable, even without his wings. He can hear the misleading whispers that embed the maze, leading any wanderers astray, but they're easily ignored. It’s just as the imposing stone walls begin to give way to barriers of thorns that he hears Chloe. He hesitates. 

He shakes himself and keeps going, but the Labyrinth has sensed a weakness and now it’s only her voice it’s using, constant and relentless. She begs and commands and cries and condemns and he slogs through it, muscles aching with effort, jaw clenched painfully.

The further he escapes, the more distorted it becomes, until her voice is shrill and inhuman, ringing in his head. He pauses a moment, breathing heavily, fingers pressed into his skull. Then he pulls himself together and keeps walking.

Gradually the Labyrinth shrivels away to the desolation of the bone fields and if it wouldn’t be known to every denizen in hell the moment it happened, he might have cried with relief. Demons crawl and scrape at his feet and he pays them little mind as he crosses the bone fields, heading toward Dis. It’s there that Asmodeus waits for him on the city outskirts with ill disguised panic. He drops to his knee. 

Asmodeus’ appearance hasn’t changed, despite time passing differently in hell, his disfigured face, gaping and soulless, filled with too many sharp teeth. His claws knead the ground in a uncharacteristic show of anxiety.

“My Lord you have returned.”

Lucifer hums disinterestedly while his eyes remain sharp. “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“My Lord?” Asmodeus looks up, confused. 

“Who has escaped hell, Azzie.” he asks in a manner where it’s not really a question. “Besides myself, of course.”

Asmodeus bows his head. “We search even now, my Lord.” 

Lucifer reaches out and grabs Asmodeus’ chin, jerking his head up and forcing the demon to meet his gaze.

“Who has escaped hell, Asmodeus?” he asks softly. Lucifer’s gaze intensifies and there’s no escape from it, liquid dark pools that compel Asmodeus to answer. 

Swallowing, he speaks the truth. “We do not know, my Lord.”

“I’m sorry?”

“There has been much disruption since your departure, my Lord. There is disorder amongst the souls and the demons, very little has been accounted for.” There's something more but Asmodeus recoils.

“What is it.” Lucifer hisses. 

“My Lord, another has dared sit on your throne.” he says with reluctance.

It takes Lucifer a moment to comprehend. His eyes boil red. “ _Who?_ ” And the realm of hell rumbles with his anger. 

“Mammon makes claim.”

Lightning cracks nearby and Asmodeus flinches. 

“Who supports him?” Lucifer demands. 

“Few, my lord, and none of merit.” he’s quick to say.

Of course. Lucifer pushes the demon away from him in disgust. The motion makes his back ache, pain lighting down his spine. Only lesser demons, imps and hobs, dissatisfied by being on the bottom rung would be stupid enough to attempt a coup in order to snatch at more power. Mammon though, that was a bit of a surprise. Though, thinking of how Mammon always watched the throne with his beady little eyes, maybe not.

He boxes it away and focuses. “Right, get Amaymon and Balak. Unless they've turned traitor as well?”

Asmodeus shakes his head. “They remain loyal to you.” he informs his master. “And where shall I send them?”

“Home.” he says, and Asmodeus wonders how his immortal master could suddenly sound so tired. “I’ll be waiting for them at home.”

* * *

Amenadiel knows he has to make things right. He needs to figure out a plan to find Malcolm. Figure something out. Figure anything out. He finds himself heading to his therapist's office, something about the space he’s come to find inherently soothing. Yet, it’s not enough to keep him from pacing the room.

Amenadiel finds himself sorely regretting how easily he let Lucifer return to hell. The moment he’d agreed it had felt like a weight in his chest. And that in turn made him wonder what had happened to him to make him regret fulfilling his god given commission. Regardless of he and his rebellious brother’s differences, Amenadiel knows Lucifer would have come up with a plan. He picks up the nearest object, a candle, and throws it in a fit of frustration, shattering it against the wall.

A hesitant knock startles him from his thoughts. Dr. Martin is there, looking at him with concern. He must have seemed very distressed.

“Is everything alright, Dr. Canaan?” she asks, in that careful manner of hers. 

He takes in a shaky breath. “I-”

“You know you can talk to me about anything.” she tells him, not pressing, but ready to help. Such a compassionate soul, someone even Lucifer trusted. Realization dawns on Amenadiel. 

“Actually Dr. Martin, I could use your advice.” he says settling against the desk behind him. Linda walks inside and does the same against the armrest of the couch. “It’s...not work related.”

“That’s fine, whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me, of course.” Linda reassures. 

“It’s about my brother.”

“Go on.”

“He’s - well, my brother is an ass.” Amenadiel says, and while Linda doesn't seem shocked by his language he does sees her mouth quirk slightly in amusement. “He’s selfish and arrogant and always thinks with his -” at her raised eyebrows Amenadiel halts and clears his throat, realizing what he had intended to say was perhaps not quite for polite company. “He’s always been reckless, rebellious. He will never do as he’s told, constantly resisting, always fighting against whatever constraints are put upon him.”

“And this upsets you?” Linda asks, though she knows it must from his impassioned diatribe.

“It does.” he hesitates. “It did.”

“What changed?” Linda asks and isn’t that the golden question. What did change? Lucifer or him?

“I - I don't know. I think...we both did.” Amenadiel says slowly. He shifts forward. “But then he thought someone he trusted had betrayed him - he just...gave up. Did as he was told.” Amenadiel is still stunned at Lucifer’s relent.

“And this uncharacteristic behavior has you worried?”

“To say the least, but it’s partially my fault.” he shifts his weight, “I...did something that created consequences I didn’t foresee and now...” he trails off.

“Well, admitting responsibility is a good first step.” Linda praises, working with Amenadiel’s vague explanation, trying to help him reach his own conclusions. She waits for him to gather his thoughts and continue.

“Now there’s a man, a dangerous man, out there because of me.” Amenadiel says. “I normally would ask my brother for help on understanding what his next move is, but he’s...left town and doesn’t really want to speak to me. I can’t really blame him for it either.”

“Hmm.” Linda purses her lips in thought. “I hate to state the obvious, but if this man you’re speaking of - if he really is dangerous...have you thought of contacting the police?”

Amenadiel stops, realization dawning on his face.

“You hadn’t considered going to the police, had you.” Linda deadpans.

He shook his head at himself. “I’m used to handling things in house.” he chuckles and doesn’t that sentence just send alarms ringing in her therapist brain. He stands, Linda doing the same. Amenadiel takes a step forward, gathering up her hands and kissing her knuckles. She flushes at the sudden affection. “You are a brilliant and kind woman, Linda. Thank you.” 

She smiles, pleased. “You’re very welcome.” she replies graciously.

Amenadiel quickly sees himself out. He knows exactly who to go to. If he can’t have Lucifer’s help, he’ll ask it of the only woman who seemed to keep up with him.

* * *

Lux is empty when Chloe steps inside, not that she expected it to be full of people with a murder having taken place and its lord and master vanished into the ether. The crime scene is clear, clean of any trace of the mess the forensic team had made of the club. Mazikeen is behind the bar, faced away from Chloe, though she’s sure the woman is aware of her presence.

“Where’s Lucifer?” Chloe asks, cutting to the chase. She doesn't think Lucifer’s right hand would appreciate beating around the bush even if Chloe felt so inclined. 

Maze sneers and snatches up a bottle of whiskey, turning to blatantly ignore the detective, letting her eyes slide past Chloe like she wasn’t even there. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.” Mazikeen retorts, intentionally jostling the detective’s shoulder as she passes.

“You never liked me.” Chloe says. “Why?” Was it simple jealousy or something else?

Mazikeen turns, “Because everyday was a party.” she says, teeth bared. “Every sin, every desire L.A. offered, we took part.” Maze says. “And then he met you.”

“So you think that it’s my fault the party is over?” Chloe asks, trying to understand the motive here, but a little indignant at Maze’s insinuation. 

“That and the fact that you’re hunting him down like a dog.” Maze curls her lip at the detective before turning back to her drink.

“I don’t think he killed the preacher.” Chloe insists and that actually gives Maze pause. She sounds sincere. “I need you to help me find him before another cop does. So where would he go?” she asks, “You know him better than anyone.”

Mazikeen resists the impulse to preen like a smug angel at the compliment and glowers instead. “These days it seems you know him better than I do.” Maze responds, looking over Chloe like she couldn’t understand what was so fascinating about her. 

Chloe doesn't really notice, she's looking away, blinking, and already running through the possibilities. 

“So where do _you_ think he’s going?” Maze returns the query, voice hard.

Chloe huffs with realization. “To get punishment.” she answers. “Which means he’s going after Malcolm.”

“Then maybe he hasn’t changed that much after all.” Maze says triumphantly, like she’s won something Chloe can only guess at.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Amenadiel’s voice interrupts, causing the two ladies to turn and look at him in surprise, neither one having heard him come in. “He’s not going after Malcolm.”

Maze’s expression crinkles up into a snarl. “What do you want?” she asks, “Lucifer isn’t here.”

“I know.” Amenadiel says, stepping forward. He glances at Chloe before zeroing in on Maze. “He went _back._ ” he tells her, voice pitched with meaning.

“What?” Maze says, aghast. “...he wouldn’t.” she breathes. 

He would never go back, and he certainly wouldn’t go back without _her_. He wouldn't just leave her here. _Right?_ Maze had been created with conviction in her bones, born to never hesitate. Yet, now she found uncertainty settling uncomfortably behind her sternum.

“I took him there myself.” Amenadiel says and sudden hatred flares in Mazikeen’s eyes. She pulls a blade and launches forward, intent on killing Amenadiel herself. He stumbles backwards at the sudden assault, throwing his hands up to protect himself and Chloe can’t move quick enough to prevent it. 

“He asked me to!” he shouts. Maze freezes, blade tip poised over him. 

“What?” she repeats sharply through her teeth.

He slowly lowers his hands. “I wasn’t going to, not after...” he swallows. “But he asked me to.” 

Maze retreats, curling into herself like a wounded animal. “I guess he really has changed.” she says quietly.

“Wait. Then he’s not going after Malcolm?” Chloe demands. Amenadiel brushes himself off and Maze casts him a scathing look. 

“No, but I am.” 

“You are?” Both Chloe and Maze ask at the same time, glancing at one another in distaste.

“I promised Lucifer I would.” and Amenadiel sounds intent. “But I need help finding him, Malcolm will have no doubt drawn the same conclusion you have. If he thinks Lucifer is after him, he’ll have gone on the run. I was hoping one of you might be of some help.”

“He’ll need a new identity, and quick.” Chloe says, “He won’t want to be using his own.”

“I know someone you can talk to.” Maze says, pushing aside the hurt of her master abandoning her. She was made to serve Lucifer, and if she has to, she’ll do it by catching Malcolm and escorting him Below herself. 

“Neil. The man made us all the papers we would need when we arrived here in L.A.” she snags a scrap of paper and begins writing down the address. “If Malcolm didn't talk to him he’ll know who he might have gone too.” Maze hands it to Amenadiel with brazen eyes and jutted chin. She’s not sorry, not for anything. 

Chloe nods, she thinks for a moment, before looking up at Amenadiel. “If you go to ask this man some questions you should have a police presence. I’ll call Dan. You can take Detective Espinoza with you.” Chloe directs, giving Amenadiel a stern look to ensure his obedience. “I’m going to check Malcolm’s house, see if he’s there.”

Chloe contacts Dan, reading him into the situation as quickly as possible. He agrees to wait for Amenadiel to meet him at the precinct, though he didn't sound too happy about having his own ‘civilian consultant’ along for the ride.

Amenadiel didn't seem exactly thrilled about it either. 

With that settled Chloe walks down the short set of stairs, leaving. Maze snags her jacket and throws it on, the movement catching the detective’s eye. 

“You can’t come with me.” Chloe says over her shoulder.

“If Amendial gets a buddy cop, you get a demon.” Maze replies. “Somebody’s gotta back you up.”

* * *

Firstly, Lucifer gathers information. Many are only too eager to obtain his good will and easily tell him the political climate hell has become. What he knows is that Mammon had taken over almost too easily. Apparently, according to his sources, no one dared to court Lucifer’s wrath upon his return to risk removing the impostor. Lucifer thinks it's more likely laziness.

The forces of perdition sit idly by, neither protesting the new king nor bothering to support him. The dregs of hell, however, has thrown their lot in with him.

Mammon must know he's here, as did every other being on the infernal plain the second he set foot inside. As a result he has beefed up security, assigning more demons to guard the walls of Pandæmonium in a bid to hold the throne. Though it seems he's chosen poorly, his demons loiter about the walls, neglecting to keep watch. It’s almost too easy to slit their throats and relieve one of a very nice obsidian sword. It's too fine for the creature possessing it, no doubt stolen from the armory.

It appears Mammon has garnered favor by letting his horde have free reign of Lucifer’s stocks and stores. He proceeds to the courtyard where the bulk of Mammon’s allies have grouped, feasting insolently, enjoying the decadence reserved for princes. 

He’s upon them like a slaughter. 

Many are dead before the rest even realize what's happening. Then there's a mad scramble for weaponry, uncoordinated, others sluggish with full bellies or dull from wine. Lucifer hacks and slashes, one after another falling under his blade and he knows about that, he knows about falling. There’s blood and viscera and the crunch of bone. He can’t tell who’s screaming, but he think it might be him.

When Amaymon and Balak arrive at the capital's courtyard the ground is littered with corpses and the soil soaked in blood. Part of the field is on fire and a low keen is echoing from somewhere.

Lucifer stands with his back to them, blood spattered and breathing heavily. He holds his sword relaxed in hand, the tip hovering just above the earth. Red rivulets run down the edge and drop with a quiet patter in the dirt. Lucifer shifts his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the ache of working muscles long unused.

Their lord has returned. Balak falls to her knees in reverence and Amaymon is only moments behind her.

“Where does your allegiance lie?” he asks them, his voice like broken glass. 

“With you, my Lord.” Amaymon swears. 

“And yet you let that maggot pretend at being king?” the question was calm. 

Balak quakes with fear. 

“We knew you would return. We did not want any attack on the throne be interpreted as desire to take it for ourselves.” Amaymon attempts to explain only to cry out when Lucifer slices across his face. 

“You are chief over the legions of hell!” Lucifer snarls. “And you let this little upstart take the throne with no more force behind him than a child. And you placate me with excuses?” Lucifer is nearly aghast with disbelief, frothing with anger, flames licking at his skin. 

Amaymon grips his face, blood dripping down his chin, but makes no further moves to defend himself. A wise choice, because if he had - Lucifer would have taken his head. 

Lucifer directs his attention to Balak. “And you. You hold command over the Lilim in Mazikeen’s absence.” Lucifer strides forward, pinning the point of his blade in the hollow of her throat. “And you did nothing.” he hisses, leaning forward until she can't breathe and a bead of blood wells up and runs down her chest. He relents. “Yet, Asmodeus calls you loyal.” He grins thinly. “Now’s your chance to prove it.” 

They stand, ready for orders. “Let’s go show that worm who he’s dealing with, shall we?” Lucifer asks, the thrill of battle humming in his veins. 

Between Amaymon’s might and Balak’s speed the battle is over almost too quickly, though no less bloody. Lucifer strides into his throne room and Mammon scrambles to stand up from where he lazed on the throne. Lucifer has his fingers around the demon’s throat in a heartbeat. He spares no words for this would be king but squeezes and squeezes until there's a sickening crunching noise and Mammon’s body goes slack. 

He tosses it aside like garbage and takes his rightful place on his throne. He frowns, waves his hand, and the seat becomes much more cushioned. There. 

Every demon in hell drops to their knee in reverence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are a few stories like this out there but I wanted to put my own spin on things. This is my first fic in a looooong time, so hopefully it's not a complete train wreck. There will probably be three chapters and I'll be getting the next one up soon!  
> Thanks for reading, lovelies. x


	2. better to rule in hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a day off work with perfect rainy writing weather gave you guys this behemoth of a chapter - the trials of not finding a good place to split it, but hopefully you won't mind.  
> -tgp

Lucifer reigns from his newly requisitioned throne for a week, or for what passes for one in Hell, never wiping off the gore spattered across him. Let all know he once served in the army of heaven and he hasn't forgotten how to wield a sword, even if his muscles protest. He sits and he manages the inane trivialities and the boring prostrations of demons and princes. 

One would think ruling over Hell would be interesting but it's vicious battles interspersed with skullduggery and spans of bureaucracy. He’s sore all over from never leaving his great throne, no matter how comfy he made the cushions. Then, though, it's time to survey the damage wrought on his palace in his absence. 

Much of the art and beauty is missing, sold to others to gain a blind eye to Mammon’s activities, other artifacts no doubt decorating some plain hovel, stolen or taken simply because they could. He calls forward an attending demon. “You there, what’s your name?” Lucifer questions. 

They dip their head in respect. “Irin, my Lord.” 

“Do you hold a command, Irin?” he asks curiously. The demon is wiry, with sharp, twisting antlers like a gazelle and adorned with dark armor, but ultimately unfamiliar to Lucifer. 

“I do, my Lord.” they respond. “It is a recent assignment. Before I served under Yeqon, but did not follow him under Mammon’s banner. Upon his removal, Amaymon appointed me my own legion and assigned me to attend you.” 

Lucifer’s eyebrows raise, impressed. Of course it was craftiness on Amaymon's part to assign a guard before Balak did, but he's chosen wisely so Lucifer will keep his attending guard. “That's quite the promotion.” Lucifer tells the demon.

Irin allows themself a small smile. “I am not displeased with it.” 

Lucifer grinned. Oh did love it when his demons had a bit of backbone in them. Just not _too much_ backbone. “Well, Irin, consider this your first mission.” The demon straightened, alert. “Many pieces are absent from my collection. Do what you can to return them to me, hm?”

They dip in a surprisingly graceful bow. “It shall be done.” they say. Irin whistles sharply and a demon melts out of the shadows, solidifying into a sharp, thorny creature. “Ezeqeel will attend you in my absence.” Irin tells Lucifer and then gathers their legion, hidden throughout the hall, and begins to fulfill the commission given to them. 

Lucifer blinks, even more impressed. He had sensed some of them but not all, hidden about as they were. Lucifer looks at Ezeqeel, though there are no discernible eyes, or discernible...anything really. “Bit scary, that chap.” he says and the shape motions in a way that looks nothing like agreement but manages to convey it nonetheless. 

After surveying the palace and its grounds, Lucifer finally makes his way to his wing of the place. “Remain here, Ezeqeel. I won’t be leaving until the council convenes.” he tells the creature. It makes a fascinating swiveling motion before melting into the wall and vanishing. Ezeqeel may keep on the watch just outside the door, but doesn't dare enter Lucifer’s inner rooms without permission. 

His personal suite remains untouched, a fine layer of dust and ash over the furniture, the air stale in a way abandoned rooms get. He sighs. He supposes he should be grateful Mammon had the sense not to pollute his chambers. With a flick of his hand he makes the grime vanish, everything gleaming like new but it’s not the same. 

The decor is not quite to his taste anymore and he sets about arranging it to his liking, materializing new furniture and removing old ones. Except for the grand piano, that he doesn't alter at all. 

The result is not quite like Lux, all supple furniture, creams and seductive lines, no. It wouldn’t fit anyhow. Instead it’s glass and metal and stone. Walls colored cold greys accented in red, the cement floor stained the color of spilled blood. _Hell chic_ he thinks and a smile twitches at his mouth before it falls.

The council room he leaves unchanged, there’s no need for the higher-ups to get any ideas about how things were going to go. Let them think him no different. 

“I am no different.” he tells himself aloud and it rings false and hollow in this place. He can practically hear Chloe’s voice.

_I thought you never lied._

Yes, well, perhaps he has changed. 

A demon comes to fetch him, a small little thing, intricately wrought and he briefly wonders who created such a creature here in Hell. She has small horns curving away from her pointed ears, but everything about her is on the modest side for a demon, no extravagant fangs or overly long claws. She cringes whenever he so much as looks at her. He doesn’t have time to bother with putting her at ease. 

He takes a sip from the liquid in his tumbler. It looks like whiskey but it tastes like dust.

“The Princes wait upon your lordship.” she informs him.

“Yes, I thought they might.”

He steps past the little demon and makes his way to the council chamber. Ezeqeel materializes a few feet down the main hall, shadowing him quite literally. He reaches the council chamber doors and the two demons stationed at them immediately pull them open for him. He does enjoy a grand entrance. 

Amaymon is standing, face implacable, Balak is sneering at the army chief. They both straighten upon his entrance. The other princes of Hell do the same, a grotesque arrangement of teeth and horns and tails, the lot of them. 

“My Lord.” they intone simultaneously, and he grins. Earth may have been a refreshing little jaunt but he did miss the subservience just a bit. Especially after Maze started getting so independent. 

“Well, it seems, my dears, that someone fell asleep on the job.”

No one of them dare to look up. _Good_ , Lucifer thinks with vicious satisfaction. 

“We must know who has escaped Hell. Amaymon, have the leaders of each legion and cohort report any absences, I want every soldier accounted for. I want every imp, sprite and hob found. Balak will search through the Lilim. Then we take count of the souls.”

“My Lord, that will take years!” a council member protests.

“Yes, it will. Best get started then.” Lucifer says, unconcerned. 

He is aware more than most how the passage of time alters in Hell. Years here are only moments on earth. Not that he has any intention of going back, Chloe’s betrayal sitting like an ache between his ribs.

His back twinges again and it's painful enough he nearly flinches with it. Something is wrong. He stands, bland smile worming along his face. 

“Is there anything else?” he asks and he knows there won't be. They murmur a bit, but not too loudly, for fear he takes exception and kills them. 

“No?” His face flickers into fire and rage. “Then get out.”

He's not amused by how quickly they run, he's not. 

Okay, he is a little bit. 

Another spasm down his back erases his humor and he walks at a very even pace, refusing to move any faster even as he feels the skin of his back split and the blooming heat of welling blood. Ezeqeel follows him, as silent and shapeless as ever and vanishes once more as they approach his suite. 

He makes it to his personal rooms, nearly slamming the door behind him and immediately falls to his knees, clawing at his suit jacket. He wrenches it off of him and frantically begins unbuttoning the dress shirt only to end up ripping it open, buttons skittering across the floor. 

He looks over his shoulder in horror. “No.” he breathes. 

For there, splitting open the skin of his back, are razor sharp primary feathers the color of pitch.

* * *

Dan is a little skeptical of his ride along buddy at first, having been given a heads up from Chloe isn’t much of a preparation to go Malcolm hunting with a man claiming to be the devil’s ‘brother’. Upon meeting the man Dan scoffs a laugh to himself. Yeah, he can really see the ‘family resemblance’. Not for the first time he wondered at how great an influence Lucifer held over his wife that she’d believe this guy to be Lucifer's brother. 

Still, once Amenadiel gives him an overview of the situation, Dan sees why Chloe made the call. Lucifer may be able to pull secrets and desires out of people with alarming ease, but a gun and badge aren’t a bad second when it comes to pressing the criminal element for answers. That, and he still hadn’t found any evidence tying Malcolm to the crime or exonerating Lucifer. Dan supposes he will take what he can get. 

All Amenadiel has is a first name and an address, but Dan has a police database on his side and quickly pulls up information on Neil Campbell. He’s squeaky clean on paper, director of his family’s funeral home for the past decade or so. Though, if what Amenadiel and Mazikeen say is correct, the paper trail probably can’t be trusted. Better to ask in person. Dan grins, more than ready to crack a few heads and feel useful. 

They arrive at the funeral home mid ceremony and they hesitate a moment before Amenadiel pushes forward, garnering looks from the attendees. 

“Excuse me, are you the funeral director?” the angel asks. “We must speak with you urgently.” he says, walking down the aisle towards the stage. Dan tries valiantly to become one with the wall behind him.

“Sir, please wait until after we’re finished.” the Director says. “This is disrespectful.”

That seems to give Amenadiel pause. “Believe me, I mean no disrespect.” he says, brow furrowed. “However, the man _is_ dead, it's not like he cares.” he seems to hear a few of the gasps of shock from the audience and shifts uncomfortably and valiantly tries to recover. “His soul is most assuredly in a far better place, and as a good man, I hope he wouldn't mind the interruption. It really is an emergency.” Amenadiel sees a few heads nodding and the angry faces have faded. He sighs a bit in relief. Now that they're not in danger of inciting a riot of aggrieved funeral goers, Dan unglues himself from the wall to join them. 

“You _are_ Neil Campbell, right?” Dan asks upfront. They've wasted enough time already. 

The man stiffens. “Yes.” he answers, indignant.

Dan flashes the badge on his waist. “Then we have a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Neil swallows and steps aside, arm out. “Right this way, gentlemen.” he capitulates. When they’ve stepped far enough away from the proceedings Neil halts. “Now, what’s this about? You’re interrupting my business.” the man says acidically. 

“Not your only business, though, is it?” Dan asks with a raised brow. His certainty makes the man in question fidget. “According to our information, your main source of income is creating new identities for the right price.” Dan grins threateningly.

“What an absurd idea.” Neil retorts. Amenadiel leans forward, making eye contact with Neil and pulls on his angelic grace. He may have nowhere near the charisma of his brother, but Amenadiel can wriggle some honesty out of a human now and then.

“Tell us the truth, Neil.” Amenadiel intones, quietly and cajoling. “Don’t you know the truth will set you free? Don't you want to be free? Go on, tell us.” he smiles beatifically. 

Dan watches the interaction with interest. Neil’s eyes go a bit glazed, a bit dopey and he nods. “I do make papers for people on the side.” he admits, leaning forward like they’re friends and he’s letting them in on a secret. “I’m really, really good at it too.” he grins.

Amenadiel places a friendly hand on Neil’s shoulder. “I have no doubt of that, Mister Campbell. But if we know that, then certainly so does the man we’re chasing. Perhaps you recall speaking with him? His name is Malcolm Graham.”

That gets Neil’s attention. He hisses out a sigh. “The cop.” he realizes, and he knew, he _knew_ he shouldn't have taken that job. The moment he realized that rat was a cop he should have left the man out to dry. Neil curses his own stupidity. 

“The cop.” Amenadiel nods, confirming Neil’s statement.  
There was nothing more Neil could do than aid the police and hope for leniency. “Yeah. He said he needed it done fast, but that he’d need time to get his hands on the 100K.” he tells them, angry at his own hubris. 

Amenadiel looks over at Dan. “Where would a homicide detective get that kind of money quickly?”

Dan raises his brows, impressed at the line of questioning. Lucifer’s brother or not, the guy knew his stuff. Neil, still under Amenadiel’s thrall and happy to be helpful put in, “He mentioned an old associate. Tommy, I think?”

“Great.” Amenadiel gripes, “We’ll do a search for every Tommy in Los Angeles.”

“An old associate of Malcolm’s?” Dan asks, interrupting Amenadiel’s moment of really getting a tirade going. Amenadiel huffs a bit sulkily but Neil nods eagerly. Then it dawns on Dan and he lets out a string of swears that has Amenadiel raising a brow. “A drug dealer named Tommy Campolongo works out of a brewery on Third.”

They book it out of the funeral home, leaving Neil with instructions not to leave town. Dan didn't think the man would obey until Amenadiel leaned forward, silently menacing, and forbade him from fleeing like a coward. The man nodded rapidly, promising he wouldn't, really. He would stay right here in LA. Amenadiel patted Neil gently on the face in reward. 

Dan and Amenadiel are in the car on the way to apprehend themselves a drug dealer and hopefully a dirty cop too when he looks askance at the strange man in his passenger seat, contemplating. 

“You know, I didn’t really believe you and Lucifer were brothers.” Dan says.

“But?” Amenadiel prompts, sensing there is more.

Dan thinks of Amenadiel’s odd nonchalance almost like Lucifer’s casual apathy, his talk of a better place like it was real, and the way he convinced Neil to give up the information. 

“I do now.” He pulls out his phone and calls the other half of their rouge investigative team. “Hey, Chlo, we might have a lead, how’s it going on your end?”

“Malcolm’s not home.” she tells him, deciding it was better not to mention getting shot at by a frantic wife. “Mel said he went out for a beer. Does that make any sense to you?”

Dan huffs a laugh, “Yeah, it does.”

“What, really?” Chloe responds, surprised. 

“He’s trying to get money to buy himself a new identity, we were told he might get it from a friend called Tommy.”

Chloe, far better at connecting the dots, immediately makes the connection. “Tommy? The dealer on Third?”

Dan grins. “That’s the one.”

“That makes sense, that he’d have cash on him.” Chloe says. “But he’s not gonna hand it over nicely.”

“No kidding. Amenadiel and I are heading there now.”

“Okay, I’ll call for backup and meet you there. I’m not far.” Chloe says, buckling herself in and glancing over at Maze, who hasn’t done the same. Chloe sharpens her look and with a roll of her eyes, Maze pulls the belt across and clicks it. Chloe tries not to smile too satisfactorily.

* * *

Mara isn't sure exactly who she pissed off in order to be assigned to the Lord himself and his rooms. There's something in the way she was directed to attend to ‘any and all of his needs’ that made it seem there might be things...expected of her person. Her skin crawls. 

She doesn't know what to expect, serving Lucifer in such close quarters, just what was entailed in such a duty. Mara knocks at the door to his personal chambers and waits nervously. No response. 

Was she to walk in without being invited? She wasn't sure if she had the authority, though she had earlier in order to convey the message that the council and princes had assembled and Lucifer hadn't destroyed her then. She’d been terrified to even look at him. Not only was he the ruler of hell and could destroy her with a word, he was also an angel, the antithesis of her kind. 

His guard, materializing from wall, had been little use. When she asked it for advice it simply twisted in a manner that suggested it had no orders regarding her but that he was restricted from the room. 

Not nearly as helpful as she would have liked. It slides back into the shadows, leaving her to it. 

“My lord?” she questions, very hesitantly pushing the door open. She swallows nervously and closes the door behind her and steps further inside. That's when she sees the blood. There's a pool collected not far from the entrance, almost invisible on the colored floor, great smears of it leading around the corner. 

She slowly follows the trail, smears giving way to bloody handprints on the doorframe. There's a low moan from inside the room and she may not have been in Hell long, but even she knows that's a sound of pain. 

“My lord?” Mara asks once more before slowly opening the door. There, curled up on the tile in the corner of the open shower is her lord and master. Great black wings spill from his back like ink, tacky with blood still oozing from him. 

He groans, a wing twitching uneasily and Mara has no idea what she should do. Fear floods her being at the sight of veritable proof of her lord’s angelic heritage, her heart thumping erratically. The wings are tangled, a sticky sack half torn around them, blood and fluid soaking the feathers. 

Lucifer seems barely conscious, nearly passing out from the agony of the appendages slicing outwards, shivering and flinching. 

Right. Well, this might not be what she expected when given the job, but dammit if she wasn't going to do it. 

First, stop the bleeding. She leaves him for a moment, rummaging around under the bathroom sink, and upon finding no medical supplies - why would there be? This was hell after all - makes do with soaking a towel in liquor. 

Lucifer cries out hoarsely when she presses it to the base where wing cut through flesh, careful not to touch the feathers. They jerk slightly, startling Mara, but they do no more than that, Lucifer is too out of it to move away. The bleeding is sluggish after maintaining the pressure so she turns to cleaning the wings, dread weighing her stomach. With a shaking hand she gently reaches out and touches a feather, eyes squinted shut. 

She peeks them open, her hand hasn’t been harmed. She breathes a sigh of relief. So maybe not all the rumors about angel wings were true. She hasn't been destroyed by touching them, in fact, they were rather soft. The sack that contains them is mostly torn, probably from Lucifer dragging himself across the floor, but she slices it with her short claws and wipes the rest of it off with a fresh warm towel, scrubbing gently.

They're much larger than she initially thought, the huge expanse of them taking up most of the large bathroom as they stretch under her ministrations. The flight feathers are razor sharp as she discovers, nicking herself. 

Sucking on a cut finger she muses that perhaps angel wings being harmful to demons had _some_ truth to it, but that’s because they were apparently sharper than two-edged swords. She’s more careful with them, wrapping her hands in thick towels that end up a shredded mess anyway but spare her hands. 

She turns the shower on, warm but not too hot and watches as red swirls down the drain. It pulls Lucifer from whatever place he’s been with a half murmured name she doesn't catch. 

His eyelids flutter open and he seems confused to see her there, crouched at the lip of the walk-in shower, wet and stained with his blood. 

“Hello, there.” he says, oddly charming despite the circumstances. 

Mara blinks. “Hello.” 

He looks back at himself, a huge black wing lifts and he examines it with a blank face. 

So he hasn't hallucinated it. Was this some sort of reward from his father? Or His punishment? Lucifer studies the color. A warning?

He isn't sure what this is supposed to mean. Back when he was a fledging, he and his siblings often talked amongst themselves at what their wing colors meant. 

Lucifer had once had wings the color of starlight. 

But these, these are a dark, glossy black. No other color present in them at all. 

It could be worse, he tries to tell himself. After all, Amenadiel’s are the color of dirty water, he thinks uncharitably. A dingy, grey-brown interspersed with cream feathers. The only thing special about Amenadiel was the shape of his wings, built for speed with cutting edges. 

Lucifer tries to haul himself upright, but can't quite manage it against the counterweight of wings he’s gotten used to being without, let alone waterlogged ones. The little demon darts forward to help him, making sure he's standing, before realizing what's she's done and letting go quickly with a frightened squeak. 

“Remain outside. Don't let anyone in.” he commands firmly, trying to mask the fact that he's trembling. From fear or adrenaline he doesn't know. She nods and flees the room as quickly as possible. 

He shucks the rest of his clothes and stands under the spray of the shower for longer than he probably should. 

He doesn't want to look at his wings but the weight of them proves to be unignorable, and the water on them feels, well, heavenly. His nature takes over as he carefully preens and cleans them, though the demon had done a rather fine job of it on her own. 

The pain has ebbed to a full throb now that the wings have breached, though he’s going to be sore for weeks. He shuts the water off and gives them an experimental flap, sending droplets everywhere. The muscles are new and weak, but they tuck easily behind his back. 

By the time he exits, with clean, dare he say fluffy wings and fresh clothes, the little demon has cleaned his room. There are bloodstained towels in the trash and she's surveying her work with a critical eye, hands on her hips. 

“What are you called?” he asks her and she jumps, whirling around with eyes like a startled deer. 

“Mara, my lord.” she says, dipping her head. 

“Mara.” he says, relishing the name like it was a mouthful of wine. “You've helped me a great deal today, Mara. Is there anything I can do to... _repay_ you?” he asks, all smooth seduction, fingers hovering at the buttons of his shirt, and if the concept didn't repulse her, she might very well have been taken in. 

“No!” Mara shouts, just a little too vehemently. Dread fills her at what she's just done. She’s surely to be slain now. “No.” she repeats, quieter. “It’s not -” she stops. “I don't, I don't like doing...that.” she says, hoping against hope she hasn't mortally offended him. She knows others have been killed for less. She swallows and closes her eyes, prepared for the end. 

“Oh.” he says, a bit surprised. “Well, that’s alright then.” he concedes. “Some don't.” 

She blinks her eyes open in shock and nearly sags with relief at his easy acquiescence. He wonders just what she thought he was going to do. Force her? 

The very idea angers him but he pushes it away. He’ll find who ever gave her that impression and find them suitably punished, just not today. Still, she deserves a reward for her service above and beyond. Many would have taken advantage of him in such a state. Even Maze hadn’t been able to resist plucking a feather for herself.

“Come now, there must be something you want.” he entreats. “What is your deepest desire, Mara?” and she can’t resist the pull of his dark eyes. 

“I want to be safe. I don't want anyone touching me.” she says, and mortification abruptly burns in her. Lucifer however seems to be eyeing her in that particular head tilting way that angels seemed predispositioned to. 

“Consider it done. You shall remain here, working as my assistant under my direct command, and none will dare lay a hand on you, unless you ask them of it.” he says. 

And he keeps his word. For the all years that follow, she remains at his side always. To his delight, he discovers her inherent demonic ruthlessness lies not in her  
personal relationships with others but in her business sense. She straightens out a mess that would have him untangling testimonies for a month in a matter of days and she's increased productivity of the third ring by tenfold. 

She’s immediately reassigned from personal assistant to a chief executive, though she still handles his personal affairs, not trusting it to anyone else. Soon enough all in Hell know that if Lucifer is there, Mara is never far. 

“Amaymon is here to see you, my Lord.” she tells Lucifer, who is examining some paper covered in Latin at his desk, an enormous hellhound lying sedately at his feet. 

“Send him in, Mara dear.” he says without looking up. She retrieves the army chief and opens the door into Lucifer’s study for him. 

“I have news.” Amaymon says, cutting to the chase. 

Lucifer hums. “Do tell.” 

“We have completed the tally of the armies. There are none absent in the ranks, my lord, save for those killed in battle.” 

“You're sure?” Lucifer asks, his tone sounding bored. 

“I am.” Amaymon confirms. “Balak reports the same amongst the Lilim.”

“And of all the other denizens of Hell?” he asks more because he knows it's the next logical step more than he actually cares. Hell’s tedium has erased the urgency from him. 

“They are all accounted for.” 

“Then begin searching through the souls, if one is missing I want to know who it is and how the hell they managed to get out.” And there's a spark of irritation in his voice, but it’s no longer the anger that drove him to command the count take place. 

“Of course,” Amaymon bows low. “It will be done.”

Lucifer dismisses him with a flick of his fingers and Mara shows him out. When she returns Lucifer is lost in thought. 

“You believe the escapee to be a soul?” Mara asks. 

He sighs. “I certainly hope so, they can't cause too much trouble back on earth.”

Mara pauses, the question of the tip of her tongue. She's gotten to know Lucifer’s temperament fairly well in their time together but even she can't always predict how he'll respond. Lately though, he's been subdued. 

“What was it like? Earth?” 

And the question stumps him for a moment. 

“It's been years since I returned and you only ask now?” and there's a hint of growl in it. 

Mara bows her head, withdrawing into herself and he feels a brief flicker of what might be shame. Easily ignorable. Yet, he tries to answer her question in apology. 

“Earth is - It's...bright, temperate in a way Hell never is.” he recalls. “What struck me was the quiet, though many wouldn't think it so. The humans are noisy, busy,  
throttling headlong with their quicksilver lives. But when I arrived it was silent, save for the rushing of waves on the shore.”

“What did you do there?” she asks, drawn in. 

“Why, I played!” he tells her, enthused, and it seems like the most emotion she’s seen from him in ages. “Drinking, sex, making deals of course, and I even managed to find a way to hunt down bad people to punish. There was this human, you see...” he stops, the light fading from his eyes. 

“What was their name?” she asks hesitantly.

Lucifer’s eyes go unfocused as he thinks. “I think it was Chloe.” he says, eventually. It takes him far longer than it should for him to remember and it bothers him, like a twisted feather. “But I - I always called her Detective.”

* * *

Chloe and Maze pull in moments after Dan and Amenadiel arrive. They exit the cars and meet up. Then they begin to plan.

“Tommy will no doubt have armed men.”

“Maze and I will handle that.” Amenadiel says, calm as could be. Maze grins wide and bloodthirsty. Dan carefully backs away from the two crazy people.

“Dan and I will go around the back, pick off any stragglers. See if we can’t pin Malcolm between the two fronts.” Chloe plans.

Amenadiel nods. “A wise strategy.” He looks to Maze. “Are you ready?” Mazikeen pulls a huge, wicked looking knife out of god knows where. Amenadiel’s eyes narrow. “We will not be killing the humans, Mazikeen.”

She huffs out an aggrieved sigh. “Well, why not?” she demanded. 

“Mazikeen.” Amenadiel warns. 

“Fine.” she relents, sticking her jaw out defiantly. Chloe holds out a hand for the weapon and Maze reluctantly gives it up. Dan lets out a shaky breath of relief.

“Can’t I at least harm them?” Maze asks, almost a whine. Amenadiel thinks on it. 

“These are bad men, who have lived lives of violence.” he says slowly, considering. 

Maze nods eagerly. “Wicked men.” she agrees.

“It is perhaps...justice, if some harm were to come to them.” he allows.

“Yes!” Maze cries victoriously.

“Not to the point of death.” he commands sternly and she nods gravely, expression all innocence. He doesn’t believe it for a second, yet is oddly taken in all the same.  
God help him. 

“Right, let’s get moving.” Chloe gets them back on track and they split up.

“You can’t seriously let them take on all those goons unarmed.” Dan hisses at her as they skulk around the back.

“They’ll be fine.” Chloe reassures, smirk on her face at Dan’s concern. They are stalking carefully through the back of the brewery when Dan hears the myriad of gunshots start up, he spares Chloe a worried glance, but she doesn’t even hesitate, moving forward. When the gunshots suddenly stop, she continues to be unphased and Dan wonders just what the hell she’s witnessed working alongside Lucifer that she remains unbothered.

Maze and Amenadiel make short work of the guards, and fighting alongside each other is a joy Amenadiel didn’t expect. She lands blows with a grin, the sounds of breaking bones and the groans of men fill the air. Amenadiel cracks the nose of one and Maze bodily tosses a man trying to sneak up on him, not that it would matter against an angel. They all go down in a pile of tangled limbs. 

Still, it’s the thought that counts.

She’s finishing up the last few when Amenadiel gestures he’s going to go ahead. Look at that, Lucifer must have taught her the signs they use in the Heavenly Host for she nods and delivers a vicious kick to the human before her.

He’s smiling when Malcolm sinks the blade in his belly. He chokes, agony piercing through him. The human is prattling, gleeful in his victory, but he can hardly hear it over the sudden ringing in his ears. The bastard twists the knife and Amenadiel nearly blacks out.

“Hey!” Maze shouts and Malcolm abandons him to his slide to the ground to snatch the money bag and flee. She runs forward and falls to her knees at his side. “Amenadiel.” she breathes out with horror.

“Leave me, go get him.” Amenadiel tells her.

“Hush, don’t talk.” she tells him, hands hovering over the blade. She recognizes it. “This is one of mine.” her voice anguished.

“It’s not -” he makes a choked noise. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll fix this.” she promises him.

“How?” 

She doesn’t respond, but slides her arms underneath him. “What about Malcolm?”

Maze grits her teeth. “Chloe will get him. Then I’ll send him to Hell myself.” she swears and lifts him up with impossible strength. With a final, wistful glance at where Malcolm disappeared, Maze carries the angel out of the brewery.

* * *

Mara keeps him updated on the goings on in his realm, and he puts in the necessary appearances to keep his subjects loyal, to keep them aware of his might. But his heart just isn't in it. He plucks a melancholy tune out of his piano and his hellhound howls along. It makes a glimmer of a smile appear at his mouth and he drops a hand down to scratch at her ear. She licks at his wrist, too intelligent eyes staring back before he returns to playing. 

Mara watches at the door and listens to him play before joining him at the piano, his great wing lifting so she can tuck herself in front of it, long past the fear of them. She has no great skill for the instrument past having claws short enough to play easily, but Lucifer has taught her a few bits and pieces. She starts with an easier one, finding the C note and beginning. Lucifer doesn't join in at first before raising his arms and playing the accompanying chords. 

“I played this with her once.” he tells Mara and she knows exactly who he speaks of. The only person he speaks of when he talks about his earthly vacation. He's made it a point to mention her now again, as if to prove he still can, that Hell hasn't erased her from his memory. 

“She probably played it far better than I.” Mara laughs as she misses a key. 

Lucifer hums, amused. “You'd be surprised.” is all he says about her. He clears his throat. “Heart and soul, it's called.” 

“Not very fitting here in Hell, the, is it?” Mara says wryly. 

“You'd be surprised.” he repeats, eyes twinkling. She looks back down, hiding the growing grin. Mara is not the most terrifying demon in Hell, but she was able to  
bring him out of his mood, and that was good enough for her. 

“The census of souls nearly complete.” Mara tells him likes it's important. He nods. Sudden despair twists up in him so strongly for a moment he can hardly breath from it. His wings give a half flap, buffeting Mara beside him who pushes his wing away and scowls at him. It abates as soon as it'd come upon him. 

Perhaps he’ll go down into the pits, find someone to punish. 

He’s changed the way hell is structures over the past few decades, with Mara’s sharp eyed assistance. Punishments are more carefully tailored, a lot of it now running on automatic. Computer systems were only some of the amazing ideas which he'd brought back with him. As the souls were counted a catalogue was created, far better than the dusty rolls of scrolls and moth eaten tomes of the past. Still, with so much of it automatic he sometimes likes to go down and get his hands a little dirty. 

Lucifer is elbow deep in the guts of some disobedient soul, not paying any attention to the horrific screaming, focusing on the punishment. He twists the blade a little deeper and the soul howls in agony. It used to be fun, but now it doesn't do anything for him. He sighs and puts the knives away, cleaning himself off and retreating back to his home. 

He unfurls his wings, stretching them out to their full length and gives them a good flap or two before flopping on his bed. 

The detective would be disappointed in him. He tries to picture her, a woman - that he knows. Someone special, one that made a warmth in his chest and a stinging ache in his ribs. He remembers she was beautiful but can’t quite picture her face. He doesn’t know if her eyes were blue or green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot more of what goes on in Hell and the case on Earth moving forward a bit! What do you guys think of all of hell's various players? Or dear old dad giving Lucy back his wings?
> 
> You can find me on my [tumblr](http://theguiltypleasures.tumblr.com/) if you want to pop in and say hey  
> -tgp


	3. hell is people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied its gonna be four chapters but im going to try and keep them a bit shorter than the last one, good news is that means you get one chapter now and hopefully one around monday/tuesday!

Malcolm, in his ill luck, naturally runs right into Chloe and Dan. 

“Malcolm, freeze!” she commands, voice sharp, but he doesn’t even pause. Malcolm pays her no heed, quickly scampering away as fast as he can. “Stop!” Chloe shouts.

He dodges, ducking behind machinery and hiding around the corner, huddled and tucked away from a clear line of sight. Chloe nearly snarls in frustration.

“Chloe!” Dan hisses in warning. She strides powerfully forward, squeezing a couple shots off, missing him but hitting close enough to scare Malcolm off. He runs away like the rat he is, self preservation forcing him into abandoning his prize. Wishing she’d at least grazed him, she moves forward and examines the bag he left behind.

“Is that the money?” Dan asks, creeping up behind her, still on alert. Chloe kicks the bag and it falls open. Stacks of crisp dollar bills look back at them. Chloe feels a thrill go through her. This could be the evidence they need, stolen cash with Malcolm's fingerprints all over the bag. It proves Malcolm’s dirty. And that means it could go a long way to proving Lucifer’s innocence. If only they could just tie Malcolm to the murder. Either way it's damn suspicious behavior for a cop, on top of his recent purchase activity and his wife’s testimony. 

“Yeah.” Chloe confirms the contents of the bag, raising her eyes up to his. 

Dan grins. He knows that face. It feels like it’s been too long since he’s seen it, feels like for once they're finally on the same page, the same side. Maybe he’s not as upset Lucifer skipped town as he should be.

“What?” Chloe protests.

Dan shrugs, smiling.

“What?” she repeats, with a smile of her own.

“Just, you.”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “Let’s just catch this bastard and put an end to all of this.”

“That’s my girl.” he says proudly. “Malcolm won’t get very far without his getaway cash.” Dan says, holstering his gun, “Have you heard anything from Amenadiel or Mazikeen?” 

Chloe checks her phone but there’s no messages. “No.” she huffs, “Well, that’s just great.”

“It’s probably for the best, backup should be here any second. Fewer unwanted questions.” Dan says easily.

“Yeah, because no one will ask about all the unconscious guards out front.” She gives Dan a look. 

Dan shrugs, putting on a guileless face. “Hey, we went around the back. I didn’t see anything.” he tells her and she smacks his arm, fighting a smile. Not even moments later after Dan’s proclamation backup is coming through the doors. 

* * *

The other cops take the evidence in, and with forensics combing the brewery there’s not much else for Dan and Chloe to do. It's a good thing they called for backup and explained the situation beforehand or they might have been looking at some sort of formal reprimand. From the look of the officer taking their statements, everyone else knows it too. They’ve been riding a fine line with this case but it hasn’t caught up with them yet. 

They’re finishing up making their _slightly_ edited statements and are signing off on it, when a tech comes up to them, concerned. Chloe can’t quite remember his name. Richard? Roland? Something with an R.

“Neither one of you got injured, did you?” he asks, dragging a careful eye over them. “None of that macho cop nonsense where you didn’t report being hurt? Because if it’s serious it needs to be treated.”

Dan and Chloe share a confused look. “No, why?” Dan replies. 

“Well, you reported that the perpetrator escaped uninjured, but I have a pool of blood that must have come from someone, and all the men in custody are only superficially harmed. I checked.” 

Their levity is instantly snuffed. “Show us.” Dan commands and they’re led to a pool of blood, dark and sticky. The forensic guy seems worried too. 

“This amount of blood loss isn't fatal in and of itself.” the tech says, brows furrowed. “But whatever caused it might have been.” 

Chloe looks up, alarmed. They can’t exactly say they brought along unarmed civilians in with them and if all the hired goons are fine and he and Chloe are fine, that leaves only Amenadiel and Maze. Now the fact they disappeared without a word is rather alarming.

“Looks like you have a mystery on your hands.” Dan jokes, but his eyes are stormy with distress and he’s slowly moving towards the door. Chloe follows his lead, anxiousness prickling at her scalp as they edge out of the crime scene and very casually walk to the brewery doors. No one gives them a second look as they make a not quite graceful exit and walk hurriedly to the car.

“Should we call the hospitals?” Dan asks as he buckles up.

Chloe shakes her head as she starts the car. “They’d never go to a hospital, they’ll handle it on their own, those _idiots_.” Her jaw clenches in frustration.

“Lux?” Dan asks.

“Lux.” she confirms.

Chloe drives a little too fast, knuckles white on the steering wheel. She’s not sure why, but with Lucifer gone she feels somehow responsible for his brother and his...whatever Maze is. Maybe it’s transference from being responsible for Lucifer when they worked together, or that she sent the two of them in there against all those men without a second thought, but either way guilt eats at her. 

Why didn't they call her? Why didn't they say that they had been hurt? God, she never should have let them go off on their own. Stupid, it was _stupid_ of her to even half believe their assertions of invulnerability. 

She gets them to the club in record time, even if she did shave a few years off Dan’s lifespan in the course of the journey. They exit the car hardly before Chloe’s thrown it in park and then they both stumble to a halt at the entrance. Dan points down to the floor where there is a trail of blood drops leading inside.

“Shit.” Chloe swears. Dan puts his hand on his gun but doesn’t draw it, just in case. Chloe pushes open the door and Dan leads, eyes up while Chloe tracks the blood. They follow it to the inside of the club where Amenadiel is laid out on the couch asleep in a fresh change of clothes while Maze is nowhere to be found. 

Chloe approaches and lays a gentle hand on Amenadiel’s shoulder. He’s instantly awake with a hand clamped around her wrist like iron. It takes him a moment to realize it’s her and that she’s a little frightened by his response. He instantly lets go, scooting further back on the couch. Chloe tucks her wrist in close, rubbing at it.

“You okay?” Dan asks Chloe, voice pitched low and quiet.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” she says, but her eyes watch Amenadiel carefully. He hadn’t hurt her but his reaction had her instincts screaming at her to be careful. She wondered about soldiers and PTSD and what would drive a man to believe themselves an angel in service of god.

Amenadiel lifts up his shirt and runs his hand over part of his abdomen where there’s a very faint, almost invisible puncture wound, pink with healing. He looks just as surprised as them. He lets the shirt fall back into place. Just what the hell happened? After Maze had healed him everything goes fuzzy and bright. He can’t recall anything past that.

“Where’s Maze?” Amenadiel asks.

“We don’t know. She isn’t here?” Chloe questions him, surprised at his lack of knowledge.

“No, I’d be able to sense her if she were close.” Amenadiel says with all seriousness and Chloe decides to just skip right over that, she's not getting sucked into their delusions once again. 

“You’re all right?” she asks instead and he nods, jerkily, as if unsure himself. Chloe sighs, half relief, half frustration. She shakes her head, deciding to let the mystery go. Some things were better left unanswered when it came to Lucifer and his family.

“Well, if that’s it, I’ll head back to the precinct.” Dan says, a little irritated that they rushed over here for nothing. 

“Right.” Chloe starts, the evidence has probably been processed so they’ll be able to look over the results and prove once and for all Malcolm is dirty. “I want to take a -” Her phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and reads the ID. 

It’s Trixie. 

“Go on ahead.” Chloe tells Dan, mentally altering her plans. “I’ll catch up.”

“You sure?” Dan asks, casting a wary eye on Amenadiel.

“Yeah.” she smiles. Besides, she wants to ask Lucifer’s brother a few questions without Dan looking at her like she’s crazy. And she needs to make sure she doesn’t have to drive all the way over to Trixie’s school in case something happened. 

He nods and makes his exit. Chloe gives Amenadiel her patented _you stay right there_ look that all moms seem to possess and the angel sags back on the couch. She hits the call button and brings the phone to her ear.

“Hey, honey. Is everything okay?” she asks, since it’s abnormal for Trixie to call her during work. Unless there's been another fight at school. God, she hopes it's not another fight at school. 

“Hello, Decker.” 

The voice turns her blood into ice. Amenadiel must sense some change for he sits straighter, eyes focusing in on her. 

“Malcolm?” she breathes. Amenadiel stiffens, hyper-alert.

“How’s the investigation?” he asks, all casualness. “I still have a few buddies at the station.” he explains. Chloe grips the phone tighter and the casing creaks slightly in her hand. “Oh, and I made a new friend today, too. Pulled her out of a boring class for some bonding time. Here, say hi.” and it’s every nightmare Chloe’s had about being a cop with a young daughter come true. 

Trixie’s voice comes over the line. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hey, Trixie.” Chloe responds, trying to keep the anguish from her voice. It’s her baby, he has her baby. “Are you okay, honey? Mommy’s here.”

There’s no response and panic briefly whites out her thoughts and then Malcolm’s back on. Amenadiel has hauled himself to his feet, standing close, head tilted to listen better. His solid presence is slightly reassuring. 

“Ah, that’s enough of that.” Malcolm taunts.

“What do you want, Malcolm?” she asks, voice desperate.

“Aw. Poor Chloe Decker. Did someone take something from you, something valuable? Hurts, don't it?” As if Trixie's life can be equated to a bag of money. 

“You want your money.” she concludes, because of course he does. Disgust ripples through her.

“Bullseye.” he replies. “Now, don’t even think about talking to the cops. Remember, you don’t know who’s with me.” he threatens lowly. 

“Okay.” 

“And keep Lucifer out of this.” he adds. And that - well that surprises her, that he still thinks Lucifer is even around, since Malcolm appears so well informed otherwise. She’s not going to give away any sliver of advantage she has and doesn’t dare correct him.

“Just you,” he continues, “or she dies.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of her chest and she numbly hangs the phone up. She almost forgets Amenadiel next to her until he rumbles, “That was him, wasn’t it?” and it’s not really a question. They both know who was on the other end of the line.

“He has my daughter.” she whispers, looking up at Amenadiel with fear reflecting in her eyes. She may not believe all that other nonsense about angels and devils or understand exactly how Amenadiel is related to his brother, but what she does know is that his look of righteous fury is the _exact_ same as Lucifer’s.

“Lucifer must be told.” Amenadiel says like it’s a forgone truth. 

Chloe shakes her head. “I have to do this on my own.” she refutes. She can’t rely on Lucifer right now, she doesn’t even know where he is.

Amenadiel clenches his jaw and says nothing, a tactic he’s unwittingly borrowed from his rebellious brother. If he remains silent, he doesn't have to lie to her.

“You must do what you feel is right, of course.” Amenadiel sidesteps. _As must I_ he adds silently. Lucifer held some sort of emotion for the detective - affection, fondness, fascination - Amenadiel doesn't know exactly. Whatever it was, it included Chloe and her spawn. Lucifer would not allow harm to come to them, or at least, that's what Amenadiel is going to be betting on. He thinks he has just enough strength returned to him to manage the flight. Or certainly he hopes so.

Chloe, oblivious to Amenadiel’s decision, is scrambling for her keys, wondering if Dan took the cruiser or called a cab, calculating the fastest route to the precinct. She has to get that money and she has to get it fast. Amenadiel wishes he could do more to comfort her, but the best he can do is inform his brother. 

The second she’s gone Amenadiel stretches out his wings, groaning, a lingering soreness present through his middle and flies off Lux’s balcony, shifting into the metaphysical plane and pointing himself Below.

* * *

Mara knows something has changed when Lucifer abruptly straightens from where he’s lounging in his chair like an indolent cat. He swings his feet from where he propped them up to place them steady on the floor. There’s a moment where he just sits like that, pull taut like a plucked string, eyes faraway. Mara watches in fascination, Lucifer sensing something beyond her understanding. He comes back to himself, eyes dark and instantly he pulls his wings in from the physical with a grimace. It’s a feat made rather difficult and tiring in the realm of Hell, vanishing them from sight. It’s something Lucifer has never done before.

“What’s wrong?” Mara asks, alarmed. 

“One of my brothers is here.” he says in response, teeth bared, his whole body tensed for a fight.

“Inside?” Mara yelps. An angel roaming at the Gate was less alarming, but one _inside_ hell? Now that was terrifying. 

Lucifer hisses and paces the room. “It would seem so.” Deciding he would prefer to meet his fate armed, he snatches up his sword and waits.

“They’re coming here?” and Mara isn’t ashamed of the way her voice quakes, ears pinned flat against her head. Despite having grown use to Lucifer and his oversized appendages, she grew up on stories of angels, monsters with empty faces and wings that destroyed everything they touched who would come and slaughter her for no greater reason than being what she is.

Her obvious fear softens Lucifer and he walks near, but doesn’t touch her, he never does unless he's asked permission first, lending comfort by his presence alone. “Yes, my dear. I’m afraid so.” he says soothingly. “You can hide in the study if you would like, it won’t lessen the opinion I have of you.” he tells her gently, fond for the little demon after all the time she’s spent by his side. 

She shores herself up. “No, I’ll stay.” 

His smile makes the decision worth it and she basks in his approval. When the angel comes crashing through the door, with a flurry of feathers and determination, Mara thinks they’re to be killed then and there, but the angel halts. Amenadiel takes a moment to catch his breath, the air of Hell burns in his lungs and singes his feathers and it takes all he has not to drop to a knee in exhaustion. Such an action could not be done without consequences here in Hell. 

“Brother.” he says to her lord and he sounds _relieved_. “Thank God.” he intones, eyes raised upwards. Lucifer growls, low and cracked. 

“There will be none of that here, thank you.” he says testily and Amenadiel takes pause, eyes looking at Lucifer like he’s not sure who stands before him.

“My apologies, Lucy. I wouldn’t have come unless it was important.” he waits for the gloating to commence but there’s little reaction beyond Lucifer raising a brow.

“Yes, well. Do get on with it.”

“We still hunt the human Malcolm.” he begins.

“I did notice he had yet to arrive, brother. Have you gone back on your word?” Lucifer taunts.

“No.” Amenadiel grates, trying to get to the point, ragged feathers fluffing with irritation. “He has stolen Chloe’s child.” 

At first there’s no discernible change in Lucifer who looks placid and uncaring. Lucifer may not remember everything from his brief vacation on earth, but at Amenadiel’s words a rage unlike any other burns violently in his chest. His wings fight to make themselves known from where he’s tucked them away in the metaphysical plane and he wrestles them down internally. Then he asks, with deceptive carefulness, a tone Mara knows means spilled blood and white bone, “The spawn?”

“Yes.” Amenadiel says, apparently irked by his brothers seeming lack of compassion. “Malcolm has threatened the life of Detective Decker’s daughter, and her own, if she doesn’t return to him his money.” 

“And you’ve traveled all this way to...what? Ask for my help?” 

“Yes.” Amenadiel replies baldly. Mara blinks in surprise and thinks Lucifer is mentally doing the same, for all that he remains impassive.

Lucifer tilts his head considering and Mara bravely takes a step forward. The foreign angel looks at her, as if noticing her for the first time, and she avoids eye contact, remaining focused on Lucifer. “My Lord, if you wish it, I can keep things running in your stead.” she offers bravely.

“Yes, I think I might.” he agrees slowly. “Come, Amenadiel.” he directs, walking towards the door.

“We are not leaving immediately?” 

Lucifer hums. “Not yet.”

While Amenadiel is grateful, unsure if he could make the return trip so quickly, he wonders what in Hell could possibly cause Lucifer to dally.

“There’s no need to rush in without a plan, brother. Since you’ve utterly failed at bringing Malcolm to me in just about every possible way, well. Let’s just say I’m going to bring a few friends along to meet him.” and the smile Lucifer directs at him, hellfire burning in his eyes, sends a shiver down Amenadiel’s spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rubs hands together and cackles maniacally


	4. all the devils are here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's take our minds off things today with a little bit of the devil kicking ass, eh?

Lucifer and Amenadiel leave his rooms together. Ezeqeel materializes from a shadow off the wall and Amenadiel startles, wings flaring out. Lucifer grips his brother by the arm and jerks him away. Ezeqeel bristles itself, a mesmerizing fluctuation of thorns. 

“The hell -?” Amenadiel starts, human language having rubbed off on him during his ventures on earth.

Lucifer snorts. “Exactly, dear brother. Not all in Hell choose a form as pedestrian as we do.” he explains and is angered by the look of revulsion Amenadiel casts upon Ezeqeel’s form. Irin must be off on some errand so the assignment will fall to their second. Switching to a tongue formed in Hell and spoken by all its denizens in one form another, Lucifer gives his directions as cordially as possible. With odd bending swirl, Ezeqeel sinks into the ground and disappears. 

Amenadiel stares at the spot of floor and the shudders, muttering something about unnatural creatures, but Lucifer ignores him, striding down his great hallways. Nearly all of his treasures have been returned, and new ones have been commissioned to replace the old and everything gleams with grandiose opulence. Amenadiel has never been this deep into Lucifer’s realm and he wonders how much of this is from imitation of the Silver City and how much of it is a show of power. Or perhaps, it’s simply to Lucifer’s taste, though for some reason his instincts tell him that is isn’t. Still, he can’t deny it isn’t beautiful.

“Where are we going?” Amenadiel asks, barely keeping up with Lucifer’s lengthy strides. 

“Out of Pandæmonium through the Mire of Dis and across the Bone Fields. There’s more than one way out of Hell, but it’s by far the easiest, especially with you here, brother. We will have to traverse the Labyrinth as not all of us can simply fly over it.” At Amenadiel’s confused look Lucifer pauses. “Did you not come that way?”

“All I saw was a lot of sand.” he remarks. 

Understand lightens Lucifer’s face and he continues forward. “Ah yes, it's easy to get turned around in the Sand Wastes, even when one is flying. The light source moves you see, keeping those using it for navigation wandering and trapped there.” he hums. “It’s quite unpleasant to crash into burning sand, I assure you. Still, it’s better than trying to fly through the Endless Storm or crawl out of the Evil Ditches. You really must take care when flying Below.” Lucifer says casually and Amenadiel makes note to not dive so rashly next time.

They reach the edges of the walls that surround Pandæmonium and a twisted little imp is shining a headlight of a car that matches the one Lucifer had in LA perfectly. Amenadiel looks over at Lucifer in surprise.

“What?” Lucifer retorts, “You honestly didn’t think we were going to walk there, did you? It would take hours.” 

Amenadiel gingerly places himself inside the vehicle and quickly grips the door frame in an effort to stay inside it as Lucifer, not waiting a second for his brother to settle, speeds recklessly down the roads. Any conversation was quickly abandoned as the wind tore the words from Amenadiel’s mouth or Lucifer simply didn’t deign to respond. They reach Dis quickly, however, Lucifer directing the car over a bridge that traversed the Mire at a thankfully slower pace.

“Was this here before?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. It’s a newer development, this car doesn't have tires to handle swamp.” The wall doors of Dis are opened for them and Amenadiel refused to duck under the hard stares of the fallen angels guarding them, but his wings curl in against his will. 

Sometimes it was easy to forget just how many of their brothers and sisters fell alongside their rebellious leader. 

The Bone Fields are quite literally hell on Amenadiel’s backside, the car bumping and swerving as Lucifer drives merrily along. He throws the emergency brake and slides to a perfect stop right in front of the Labyrinth. Lucifer hops over the side of his car, not bothering with the door and waits at the entrance impatiently. 

Amenadiel stares up at the imposing walls with a bit of trepidation. He’s never been inside, always able to swoop easily over the tall walls, and he understands now, as they enter and begin walking, why that’s preferable. Thousands of voices cry out for aid, bombarding his senses. 

“Come now, brother, none of it is real, keep walking.” Lucifer advises, striding ahead with his hands in his pockets. It’s Linda and Maze and his brothers and sisters all calling for him. Can Lucifer not hear them? Then he sees the way his brother pauses, tilting his head and listening, that he knows that Lucifer is not immune to this part of his realm anymore than Amenadiel is. 

“How do you stand it?” Amenadiel gasps.

He doesn’t tell his brother that sometimes, when he can't quite recall his Detective’s voice, he drives out here and listens. It’s not long before the Labyrinth twists her voice, making it something foreign and ugly, but the moments before that, well. He may not be able to block the voices of the sprawling maze, but he’s gotten rather used to them.

That’s not what he says to Amenadiel. 

“One must have _empathy_ to be affected by the Labyrinth, dear brother.” and flashes him a cruel smile. “But fear not, the exit is just there.”

They leave the Labyrinth and the voices fall away, much to Amenadiel’s relief. Lucifer watches him with dark eyes in a blank face. “The Door and Gate are just up here. Since we have you, it should open without complaint.” Lucifer says dryly, heading up through until the light fades off and they’re surrounded by inky black. For a moment Lucifer’s footsteps go silent and Amenadiel is truly and utterly lost. He’s seized by a terror that he’ll be condemned to walking in complete darkness, never finding his way out.

“Brother? _Brother!_ ” he calls out, panicked, hands flailing forward. He feels a flutter of fabric and his hands snatch forward at it, tugging on what must be Lucifer’s suit jacket.

“Easy on the Armani, nervous nelly, you’ll crinkle it.”

“Apologies, Luci.” Amenadiel croaks, but doesn't let go of his hold on Lucifer. He stumbles as they climb what feels like an endless staircase but then they come to the top. Slivers of cold light lance through the cracks in the Door, just enough illumination to see. Waiting for them, just there, are two beings Amenadiel never wanted to meet again.

“You can’t be serious.” Amenadiel objects flatly.

Lucifer grins coldly, his teeth glinting sharply in the dark. “Dead serious, I’m afraid.”

“You expect me to just allow them out with you?” Amenadiel objects. Lucifer's eyes flash red and that’s all the warning Amenadiel has before his brother’s fingers are clamped like a vice around his throat and his back hits the Door with a rattle of chains.

“Allow?” Lucifer says with breathy disbelief. “As if I were yours to command.” he sneers. His two compatriots lean forward interestedly, but make no move to interfere. “No, you asked the Devil for help and that’s what you’re going to get.” His eyes burn crimson, shadows clinging to the panes of his face. “What’s going to happen, dear brother, is not only will you let the Devil out of Hell, you’ll let his friends go too. And while we go and fix the mess you made you will stay and patrol the Gates until we return. Is that clear?” he asks, sadistically leaning his weight against Amenadiel’s throat to prevent him from answering. 

The faithful angel manages a nod somehow anyway and Lucifer releases him.

“You will return?” Amenadiel asks, voice rough.

“Of course I will.” Lucifer murmurs in reply. “What is there for me on Earth?”

* * *

If Chloe wasn’t so grateful she’d be a little ashamed how in a police precinct full of cops she can not only walk out with a bag full of money, but one that’s evidence in an ongoing case. Though, if Dan is to be believed, it was easy enough for him to smuggle a gun out of the evidence locker. 

Her palms are sweating and it keeps making the steering wheel slick as she drives substantially more than the speed limit to where she’s been instructed to meet Malcolm. It’s dark by the time she gets there, pulling in with a squeal of tires. 

It’s an empty aircraft hanger, the lights bright and bleaching the color from the room. Chloe has thrown the car in park and is out the door, eyes immediately searching for her daughter.

“Trixie!” she calls as Malcolm walks her around to where she can see them.

“Easy, Decker. Easy.” he says, half placation, half warning. He keeps his hand tight around the little girl’s arm.

“Mommy, can we go home now?”

“Yes, Monkey. We can.” Chloe is quick to reassure, but she knows her voice is ragged with emotion.

“Glad to see you came alone.” Malcolm retorts, aiming the gun at her, jerking it towards himself in a ‘give it to me’ motion. “Now, give me the gun.”

Chloe slowly slides both her pieces over to him, letting him catch them with his feet. 

“There, you happy?” she says, a little fire creeping into her tone.

“Sure, as soon as I get my money, so _where is it_.” he asks, voice going sharp.

“Not without Trixie.” Decker refutes.

“Oh, come on, Decker...” he scoffs. 

“Malcolm, that’s the deal.” Chloe retorts. He pauses, thinking it over with a stubborn jaw before letting Trixie free. 

“Go on.” he grumbles.

Trixie runs quickly, arms out for her mom. Chloe scoops her up in a too tight hug. “Hi.” she greets her baby girl. But this isn’t over yet and she has only vital seconds to get her daughter to where she will be safe. “We’re gonna play a game, all right?” she whispers. “I need you to hide until I can come find you.” she instructs, trying to convey how important this is without scaring her daughter further. 

“Mommy, I don’t want to play a game.” Trixie says, tears in her eyes.

“I know you don’t, baby.” Chloe says and her throat is tight and hot. “But I need you to go hide really, really well. Okay?”

She nods. Chloe smiles and gives her little push. “Go.”

“Kids, huh?” Malcolm says, like they’re friends commiserating over coffee. She isn’t sure she’s hated anyone as much as she hates him in that moment. If looks could kill Malcolm would be dead a _thousand_ times over. 

Chloe stands, clears her throat and hits the button to open the trunk. “It’s there - it’s all there. It’s in the bag.” she tells him. 

He raises the gun at her. “Yeah, I believe you.” sounding anything but. 

Chloe slowly raises her hands. “You don’t need to do this, Malcolm.” she tells him, trying to reach something inside him, if only his self preservation. 

“I know,” he says, tilting his head, “but I was gonna shoot you at Palmetto, “ he sucks in a breath. “And now I feel like I’ve been given a second chance here, so I’m sure as hell not gonna waste it.” his face twists into something vindictive. 

As if the words themselves as summoned him, Lucifer, with a careful breath, tosses a paper airplane forwards. His companion to one side giggles softly in appreciation of Lucifer’s theatricality. Chloe’s eyes widen in disbelief as she catches sight of the dark clothed figure on the other side of the hanger. As out of place as the paper airplane is, it distracts Malcolm just long enough for Chloe to move away and hide herself and she’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Is this really what you did with your second chance?” Lucifer announces his presence, cool as you please, his derision all too plain. Malcolm spins around to spot him. Lucifer’s not alone. There are two men with him, one large and solid, golden bronze, standing stoically to Lucifer's right. The other crouches, pale as spilled milk, twitching and muttering to quietly himself on Lucifer's left. Malcolm twists back only to see Detective Decker gone. He returns his attention to the Devil.

"Dearie me, Malcolm. Pathetic.” Lucifer taunts.

“Hey Lucifer!” Malcolm calls out. “Hey, buddy. Long time no frame.”

Lucifer laughs, quietly walking forward. That’s right, he _did_ try and frame the devil himself, didn’t he? He’d almost forgotten that. Such silly notions humans had. 

“Though that didn’t stick too well. Guess I need to find a more permanent solution.” Malcolm says, keeping the gun trained on Lucifer. The devil idly wonders if it would kill him. Yes, the detective’s proximity did lean that in Malcolm’s favor, but he’s been down in Hell so long. 

Did it wear off? He wondered. After all, it hadn’t quite taken hold on him when he and the detective were first acquainted. That and he had his wings again, albeit not the same pair, surely that lends itself as a variable to the situation.

Lucifer hums, he’s rather done with all this nonsense, and anger slides coldly through is veins. “Did you know I wasn’t even here?” he asks Malcolm.

“Lucifer, what are you doing?” Chloe asks herself quietly from where she’s tucked herself behind a box of some sort.

Lucifer’s statement seems to throw the dirty cop off his game for a moment. “What?” Malcolm asks, squinting.

“I wasn’t even here, I wasn’t coming after you.” Lucifer explains to him like he’s a very small child. God, humans were thick.

“You...weren’t?”

“No, I’m afraid I had no more business here on earth and returned to Hell.” Lucifer pauses. “You remember Hell, don’t you Malcolm?” he asks pleasantly. 

Malcolm’s aim wobbles and he swallows shakily. Lucifer grins, dark and predatory.

“Ah, you _do_.” and Lucifer seems pleased with that. “And I would have been content to stay there, letting you scamper around up here.” Lucifer tells him, and it’s not quite a lie since he'd had Amenadiel’s word that Malcolm would be punished. "Except then you had to make the colossal mistake of threatening the ladies Decker." Lucifer smirks, hard and cold. "And that, well, that got my attention." 

“Yes, well.” Malcolm says with a false smile, slowly edging closer to the car with his money. “My mistake.”

“It really is, you see, because if I had stayed on earth I might have been tempted to grant you mercy,” Lucifer grins at his own ridiculousness and then abruptly lets his face fall. “As it is, I’m afraid that isn’t the case.” 

His Angel of Silence and his Archdemon beside him go alert with anticipation. Lucifer lets the moment pause before commanding, with burning red eyes. “Kill him.”

The smaller man, Legion, shoots ahead instantly, hurtling forward on four legs, laughing. The larger one, Dumah, begins a steadier pursuit behind him. Malcolm has just enough time to attempt to bring his gun up and fire a single shot that goes wide before the frenzied demon is launching himself bodily forward. He snaps at Malcolm's face, teeth clacking, knobby fingers gripping and tearing. In the struggle the gun goes skidding harmlessly across the floor. 

Dumah crushes it under his foot as he nears. Legion is on Malcolm’s back and the human manages to shake the creature loose at the sacrifice of his jacket being pulled off in Legion's hands. Legion, no longer interested in Malcolm at all, starts digging through the pockets, sniffing and chittering. He triumphantly holds up the Pentecostal coin, letting out a gleeful cry. 

Malcolm takes one step forward in an aborted endeavor to recollect his coin, and in his distraction, fails to notice Dumah closing in. The massive man snags the front of Malcolm's shirt and jerks him forward, off balance, wrapping thick biceps around the human's throat. 

Legion scampers back to Lucifer, sitting and shivering excitedly at his feet. Legion carefully places the coin in his master's hand, his head lolling back, mouth open wide in a pant. Lucifer pockets the coin himself before reaching down and touching Legion's face. The demon croons and pushes into the contact. Lucifer smooths his palm over the shorn scalp, cradling the back of Legion's skull. 

“Good boy.” Lucifer tells him and Legion closes his eyes in delight at the praise, shuddering. 

“Boss?” Dumah asks, effortlessly dragging a struggling Malcolm in his chokehold. 

Lucifer glances down at the red faced Malcolm with nothing but distant contempt. He smiles abruptly, wide and terrifying. “Did you think you could actually succeed?” Lucifer asks Malcolm, taking joy in watching his face redden as he choked. “I’m the goddamned devil!” Lucifer tells him, grinning. “And I'll be seeing you very soon, my dear.”

Lucifer looks up, makes eye contact with Dumah and nods. The sound of Malcolm's neck snapping echoes grisly through the warehouse. Chloe's hand flies to her mouth. The body falls with a thud and Lucifer watches dispassionately. 

“Fetch the child.” he directs at Dumah, knowing such a delicate task couldn’t be left to Legion who was poking at the corpse at Lucifer’s feet with morbid interest. The lower angel, true to his name, moves silently, vanishing amongst the rows of shipments and boxes. He returns a moment later, carrying a concerned Trixie who is clinging to his thick throat. She seems as concerned at being carried by the person who just snapped a man’s neck as she does Lucifer being the devil. That is to say, not concerned at all. 

“Trixie!” Chloe cries, emerging from her spot and rushing over. Dumah gently relinquishes the child to her mother before stepping back to Lucifer’s side. Seeing Legion begin messing with the corpse, Dumah takes his foot and pushes the demon away from it. Legion hisses in protest but goes silent and sulky when Lucifer gestures a staying hand. 

“Is it over, Mommy?” the girl asks, the question muffled as Chloe holds her crushingly to her chest.

“Yes, it’s over, baby.” she says, shaking with relief. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re okay.” She turns to Lucifer, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Thank you.” she whispers.

“You're welcome, Chloe.” Lucifer responds quietly, her name strange in his mouth. 

She turns her attention to Dumah. “And thank you, too.” she tells him. 

“You’ll have to forgive D, here. He’s not much of a conversationalist." Lucifer explains, his mouth quirks with humor. The man in question dips his head to Chloe, a gesture that seems to intrigue Lucifer.

“Should we call someone to clean up this mess?” Lucifer wonders aloud, toeing at the body.

“You - you killed him.” Chloe says numbly, events catching up with her.

“Mm.” Lucifer agrees. “Well, I didn’t. Technically Dumah did. It doesn't really matter either way, though. He deserved it.” he answers, unconcerned. 

"Where have you been?" Chloe asks, her voice raw. With Trixie safe in her arms her worry turns to Lucifer. He was changed somehow, his weight is settled differently, his eyes aren't the same. 

He looks at her with detached fondness, like it had been a long time since he'd seen her. 

He remembers now why it had been so easy to leave earth, because it _hurt_. Just seeing her, just being near her, inexplicable vulnerability aside, was painful. 

His wings tensed from where he held them in the spiritual plane, reacting to pain he couldn’t express. And yet, he knew desire, understood it in a way no one else could, and this applied to himself as well. Despite the agony, he desired...to _stay_?

“Ah, yes. I remember that, you know, the questions.” he says, distracting her and himself. “Detective Decker: Always asking questions but never listening to the answers.” He hums, playing at amusement. 

Upon seeing her arched brow he deigns to answer her. “I went back, Detective. As I was intended.” He picks invisible lint off his jacket. “I would have stayed there, too, but -” he smiles, but it holds no emotion. This is a different Lucifer than the one she knows. “Needs must.” he says like it was nothing. “Amenadiel was quite insistent I come, you know.” 

Her brow furrows, trying to understand what he’s saying, see through his metaphors, but doesn’t have the time because with a clap of his hands Lucifer once again holds everyone’s attention. 

“Well! Now that the spawn is returned it’s time for you to get going, isn’t it Detective?” he asks.

“But-” she starts, Lucifer interrupting her before she can get a word out. 

“No, no, Detective, I really must insist.” he says, gently pushing her in the direction of her car. “Leave the money, though.” he tells her after a moment of contemplation.

“Lucifer, I can’t just leave it! That money is evidence.” she objects hotly.

He seemed to understand her look and then was affronted. “I’m not going to keep it.” he retorts. “What on earth would I have use for a measly 100k? I’m richer than my father, as the saying goes.”

“Right. Of course.” she replies, letting go of the breath she had taken in order to rant at him.

“Worry not, Detective, you shall have it returned to your evidence locker soon enough.” 

“What are you going to use it for?” she dares ask, her eyes the shade of a clear stream under the bright lights. So that’s what color they were.

“I’m going to make sure he gets what he deserves.” Lucifer smiles, empty and terrifying. “A frame job for a frame job. Let them find him surrounded in the proof of what he was.” Lucifer sneers down at the corpse. “A traitor.” 

Chloe nods. Lucifer punishes evil she reminds herself. She gets Trixie settled in the back seat and watches out of the corner of her eye as Dumah reaches in and removes the bag of money and shuts the trunk. 

Lucifer has stepped close as she hesitates uncertainly for a moment at the drivers side. He’s too close, and she can catch his scent, normally an expensive cologne, but this time it’s something that smells like spice and smoke. 

“Go home with your daughter.” he murmurs, strangely formal, his head dipped close to hers. They hover there, lingering. For just a moment her eyes drop to his mouth and then back up, but his gaze never wavers. She gets in the car and he shuts the door for her.

She looks back at him through the rear-view mirror as she drives away, a dark smudge in the brightness of the hanger, and wonders why it feels so much like goodbye. 

“Well, boys. Best get started.” Lucifer says once the Detective is out of sight. It’s not an overly difficult job, particularly between the king of Hell, a fallen angel and an archdemon. They’re just picking up the body in preparation to move it when he feels a new presence.

“My lord!” A familiar voice calls to him and he turns, surprised. 

A woman walks at a fast pace to reach him. Her appearance isn’t one he’s seen before, short and curvy, warm colored skin and dark, flowing hair. But he’d know his little demon anywhere. 

“Mara!” he says, absolutely delighted. She stops in front of him. Irin, ambiguously androgynous with a shock of white blond hair takes their position a few steps to her left. Lucifer takes her in. “Look at you.” he says, sultry voice and waggling eyebrows. She blushes prettily and holds her hands out to gesture to the form she's taken. 

“It looks okay?” Mara asks hesitantly. 

“Darling, you look amazing.” he reassures. “Suits you perfectly.”

She grins.

“Mara, dear. Not that it isn't wonderful and absolutely baffling to see you...but what are you doing here?”

“Oh, right. Of course.” she replies, her face settling into something more serious. “The report came in, we know who’s missing.” she explains. 

Lucifer smirks. “And you couldn't resist a chance to come Above, and just had to tell me right away.” 

He expects her to grin that suddenly wicked grin that always catches him off guard, but her face is still serious. He instantly sobers.

“Who is it, Mara?” he asks, his feathers bristling as a tendril of icy fear works down his back.

“It’s your mother.” she tells him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, we've caught up with the end of the original episode! there may be another chapter just wrapping up loose ends and questions, and after that, well, who knows? :)


End file.
